


meaning of the words

by wanderingwhaler



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: And that's how we like them in this house, Fluff, Geralt is an idiot, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is an idiot, M/M, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingwhaler/pseuds/wanderingwhaler
Summary: Geralt keeps overhearing people analyzing Jaskier's songs.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 46
Kudos: 439





	meaning of the words

The first time it happens, Geralt is in a brothel. He and the bravest of the town’s lot, a brunette with wide hips and a gap between her front teeth, had finished what Geralt had paid for and had transitioned into what Geralt actually found the most rewarding: laying together. He was as relaxed as he could be inside four walls containing humans who were afraid of him and he let his senses expand to take stock of his environment. 

It was the name that caught his attention. 

“The bard at the inn played that new Dandelion song, The Bleeding of the Moonlight Maid – did you hear it?” One woman asked, a few doors down said. 

“Oh my _gods_ , yes. I mean, ‘moonlight’? How obvious can you be?” Another woman replied, gleefully, accompanied by the sound of what Geralt could only guess was her clapping. 

Geralt frowned. He wasn’t a huge fan of Jaskier’s work, but he knew the bard would be hurt to hear his songs being mocked. 

“He is so obvious! It’s driving me crazy. You know, Marlene doesn’t agree with us but I dare her, I _actually_ dare her, to listen to the lyrics ‘bone pale skin and torn asunder, love, burning eyes and hidden mirth, I will never cease to wonder, love, how I can prove my worth’ and not know _immediately_ that he’s singing about himself and that witcher of his.” 

Huh. 

What a wild hallucination to experience with absolutely zero cause or warning. 

A muffled shriek from one of the women. “Misha. _Misha_. I am actually going to die. I thought it was bad when he wrote Fox and the Hound.” Geralt remembered that one. It was another tragic love story where the hound rejected the fox because the hound couldn’t believe it could be more than a hunter when the fox pushed the hound to embrace their affection for each other. 

“This is so much worse. The hound and wolf parallel was one thing but gods. How did that one part go? Something about his eternally unfilled contract was brushing silver hair? I don’t know, we’ll have to ask Roger to play it again later for us.” 

“I can’t believe this is real life. He must be doing this on purpose. He must know we all can see who he’s talking about.” 

The brunette in Geralt’s arms shifted. 

Sounds of repeating thumping, like someone was hitting their bed with a pillow. “I just want them to love each other! And Dandelion is about to just give up any pretense of subtext if he keeps escalating like this. Next song is just going to be Please Love Me Back, Geralt of Rivia and we will both simply perish.” 

Geralt had been abandoned by all sense of security and rightness in the world. 

He lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling for three slow heartbeats, before deciding that the women must be playing a trick. They must have heard a witcher was here and decided to…recite lyrics from Jaskier’s latest song. In an attempt to unsettle him. Humans were strange. Emotions were awful. He didn’t have to understand beyond knowing that everything they were saying was an invitation to madness. 

*** 

The second time it happened, Geralt was on the road. It was nearing dusk but with Roach’s experience and his eyesight he knew he could make another half hour at least before walking became dangerous. Plus, he had smelled the campfire of others nearby and wanted to establish some space between them.

It was when he was passing by the camp that he heard the name again. 

“I’m telling you. All of Dandelion’s love songs can be directly connected to all his songs about the White Wolf.”

“And I’m telling you, Dava, that you’re full of shit.” 

Geralt slowed to a stop. Roach huffed but Geralt tuned her out to pay attention to the second pair of strangers discussing Jaskier’s nonexistent declarations of love towards him. 

“I don’t know how you can be a bard and still be so stupid. Is that why you travel with me?” 

“Motherfucker. I will throw you in the fire.” 

“I swear on the gods. I will do something terrible to you, you ass. We just played Lady of the Snowcapped Keep and The White Wolf Against Abominable Hoards yesterday. You didn’t notice they have the same motif popping up all over the place?” The other man scoffs but Dava starts to sing. “Frozen heart of love denied,” then speaking again, “That’s the same as ‘terrors torn by silvers might’ bit. We have the same fucking sheet music. Look at it before coming at me like an idiot.” 

Sounds of paper rustling. Geralt thought about moving on but kept giving himself one more second. One more second for the men to suddenly declare they were mistaken and whatever implications they were trying to make were delusional. 

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh. Damn the gods, Kalius, we played it yesterday. How did you graduate? If Dandelion gets more obvious in his lyrics, I bet they’ll pull his music from the curriculum. Nothing to interpret now. Next song will just be called ‘Bard Pines for Witcher’.”

“Fuck, you think he’d kill us if we wrote that and submitted it to his department?” 

“Which one? Dandelion or the Witcher?”

“Either, probably.”

“I mean. Only one way to find out?” 

Geralt moved on. 

*** 

It kept happening. 

“I’ve had that Dandelion song about loving the witcher stuck in my head for a week. I’m about to snap.” 

“Which one? Walk Through Meadows or Claws of Fury?”

It _kept_ happening. Again. 

“Remember those lyrics about the miller’s daughter? The honey eyes, flour-tone skin. Why would Dandelion say she smelled like leather and horse, do you think? I tried about asking around down at the mill, what sort of stuff they do that uses leather and horses, but Audrey laughed at me.” 

“Cause he was talking about the witcher. That bard doesn’t love anyone’s daughter. Just can’t go around singing about how much he loves mutants.” 

“Oh… You sure?”

“Ha! Yes, lad. The whole continent is sure.”

And again. 

“Do you think anything changed between Dandelion and the White Wolf?”

“Please not again.”

“I’m just saying that this last publication of work has an awful lot more phallic imagery.”

“Sometimes a sword is just a sword, Marjorie. Although, he did use ‘throbbing’ once, and that’s not very proper sword like. Unless it was cursed?”

“A sword spelled to throb is a blessing not a curse. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he means throbbing witcher manhood in that one. And the other two dozen.”

And again.

“Master Bard Dandelion was thrown out of court yesterday for singing about his Witcher.”

“Why would they contract him if they didn’t want to hear songs about Geralt of Rivia? That’s all he sings about.”

“Well, apparently the Duchess did not in fact realize that it was not her blonde hair and pale eyes he had been singing about in all his love songs until the cousin of the neighboring Lady barged in making a fuss because Dandelion stopped at their estate before the party to try his luck at getting in the Lady’s skirts.”

“He did not.”

“Yes, he did. And during the wailing around, that cousin called him out about all those love songs, saying that just because he failed to make the witcher interested in what’s between his legs, doesn’t mean he can bury his, and I quote, ‘pitiful, pining, pathetic prick’ in his cousin.” 

“Holy shit! And what did the Duchess do?” 

“She took the bard into a side chamber, then came out sans bard ten minutes later and got drunk at the head table before dancing with one of the guards.” 

“Best party of the year and I missed it.” 

*******

Suffice to say, Geralt was concerned. His bard would be devastated to find out that what seemed to be the entire Continent had severely misinterpreted his songs. Jaskier was proud of his work. And while he didn’t tell the truth as much as Geralt would have, well, that’s why Geralt isn’t the bard. Half truths work for entertainment, Jaskier proved that well. 

Except, all these half-truths seemed to have confused the general navel gazing public. Somehow the flowery way Jaskier wrote about Geralt’s contracts led the masses into thinking that the flowery love songs were about him too. 

Geralt had brooded long and hard over it. He had spoken to Roach, stopped talking to Roach because she was being purposely obtuse, made up with Roach, then talked to her about it again. He was no closer to a resolution. He had even sunken as low as buying a copy of the latest volume of work published under Jaskier’s name to read over the lyrics again to himself. And occasionally Roach, when he was far, far, far away from anyone who might witness him reading love poetry to his horse. 

He was still thinking over the situation when Jaskier found him once again on the Path. He buried the book of music under all his especially noxious and toxic potions ingredients to ensure Jaskier wouldn’t find it while poking around his bags and he tried. He tried to not think about what the people of the continent were saying. 

After a few days travelling together, accompanied by Jaskier’s never-ending chatter and music ( _oh gods the music_ ), Geralt accepted that the strategy of Not Thinking About It was a complete failure. They might have to, and Geralt shuddered at the thought, _talk about it_. 

*******

Jaskier was in the middle of a rousing retelling of his last run in with another bard; a run in that involved a lame goat, a broken violin, and one accidental dismemberment – not Jaskier’s – when Geralt took a deep breath and tried to interrupt. 

  
  


“Jaskier.”

He spun around on his heel to look back at the witcher, who was walking beside Roach to give her a break. “Yes, Geralt? Oh, you don’t believe that I could have driven a man to such distraction. Well, I can tell you that I am perfectly capable and practiced in the art of utmost annoyance. Obviously, I do not – and I do mean never – portray such a side of myself to you, as my dearest friend, the great – “

“Jaskier.” 

“White Wolf. Of course, you’ve done nothing as barbaric as trying to plagiarize another bard’s work. Tell me, Geralt, how far would you go if some second rate witcher was running amok, claiming your victories as his own? The injustice of it! Do witchers kill other witchers?”

“It matters more if witchers kill bards,” Geralt muttered. 

Jaskier stopped walking, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pursed as he processed Geralt’s words. Too soon for Geralt’s liking, he snapped back into motion, looking as pleased as ever. 

“You would defend my work against unscrupulous, plagiarist bards? Why that is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. This reminds me of a time – “ 

“Jaskier. I bought a book.” 

Stunned silence. 

“Well, might I offer you congratulations? Good for you? I’m honestly not sure where to go with this information, Geralt. Unless, is the book cursed? Sweet Melitele, is that why you’ve been so squirrely around the eyes? I see the squirreliness. I do pay attention. That’s alright. Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll sort it out.” Jaskier looked entirely sincere, which just made Geralt want to kill something. Or maybe just squeeze Jaskier until they both exploded. It was hard, the feeling things business. 

“Not cursed. It’s yours. Your book of songs. The Wanderer Collection.” 

Jaskier froze. His face did something objectively terrifying and Geralt’s bar for terrifying began at the inside of a kikimora. Geralt watched in fascination as Jaskier’s face seized in a series of expressions before he settled on terrified, but with a huge smile and eyes that were frantically scanning Geralt’s face to judge his demeanor. 

“I am...flattered? Yes. I am flattered. Very kind of you, Geralt. To, uh, support a friend. I say support. Really most of sales goes to the publisher. A holding of the Academy, if you can believe that. All about making money, you know how it is. Funny story about coin. If you give me just a moment to think of it, I mean, remember it, I’ll have you laughing in no time. Uh…” Jaskier redoubled his efforts in smiling. He was starting to look deranged. 

Geralt was a little tempted to let Jaskier distract him from this conversation that would ultimately be more humiliating for Geralt than the bard. No, he’d never be able to look Roach in the eye again. Fuck. He dug the book out of his bag. He needed references. 

“I heard people discussing them. The words and...meanings.” 

Geralt watched as Jaskier stumbled off the path to lean against a tree. “I’m sorry. I think I just experienced a stroke.” He was actually starting to look a little pale. “You heard people analyzing my songs and bought a copy of the sheet music yourself? To do what? If you pull out a flute next, I’m going to be very concerned and amused, but mostly concerned. Do you hear me?”

“They said all your songs were about me.” Geralt felt that pretty much encapsulated the whole of it. 

Jaskier snorted and some of the tension in his face eased. Geralt absolutely did not find the snorting endearing. “You’re my muse, you oaf. I write songs about you, the White Wolf, great big witcher saving humanity, one beastie at a time. Been doing it for decades now, you know this. You’ve told me you hated all of them. Literally, every single White Wolf ballad, you’ve done the grumpy growl at.” Jaskier looked more amused than terrified now, which was nice. “You could have just asked me for information or whatever you bought that book for. And they sold you the wrong volume. The Wanderer isn’t about witchering, the last one was.” 

“I know, these are love songs. But they’re saying these are about me, too.” Geralt ignored the wheezing coming from Jaskier and flipped to the list he made in the back. “I heard two women discussing the Bleeding of the Moonlight Maid. Two bards discussing Lady of the Snowcapped Keep. Washer women discussing Walk Through Meadows. A blacksmith went to the miller to ask about Sweet Amber Bread. And -” 

Jaskier cut him off. “Lies and slander. All of it. I don’t know what these misinformed, terrible people are thinking but I assure you, I love many women. A plethora of real women, who inspired these songs.” 

Geralt eyed Jaskier. “So the lyrics ‘as the crow steals silver, the she-wolf stole my heart’ has nothing to do with me.”

Jaskier spluttered. “I mean. You are most assuredly not a she-wolf. I would know, as much as I’ve watched you bathe. Oh gods. No. Not everything is about you. I had wolves on the mind, the imagery. The arts are difficult, Geralt!” 

Geralt flipped to another song. “Yes. Bathing. So the part of I’m Trying, where you say, ‘let me bathe you, bright light hair and scarred back, torturous lovely view.’ That’s not about me then.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmm. And in Walking The Path, did you mean _a_ path or _the_ Path. I had an innkeeper question me about it before he was willing to serve me any ale.” 

Jaskier gurgled something he couldn’t make out. 

Geralt flipped through the book to see what notes he had written about what others had said. He squinted, trying to discern what was obscured by a dried blood smear. “Repeating motifs? What’s a motif and why do they think it means your love songs are related to the songs about monsters?”

Jaskier didn’t answer so Geralt looked up. 

Tears were running down Jaskier’s face as he stared at Geralt.

“Fuck. I’m sorry I don’t remember what a motif was, if you already told me. I’ll write it down so I don’t forget it again,” Geralt tried. 

Jaskier’s chin wobbled a little. Geralt took a step towards him, hands raised, book in his right. 

“Jaskier. I don’t know what’s wrong.” As a general rule, witchers don’t plead. But Geralt felt like he was toeing the line and shamefully, he was willing to leap over it if Jaskier didn’t tell him what was happening. He eyed the tree. “Did the tree stab you?” 

Jaskier choked out a laugh. “Nothing stabbed me. I’m just waiting for you to tell me you never want to see me again because you saw through my extremely clever way of writing to avoid having it obvious I was singing about how much I loved you.”

It wasn’t very clever at all, considering all the women in the songs had yellow eyes and acted like Geralt. But he knew better than to tell Jaskier that. He didn’t know what to say. 

“I spent _ages_ crafting the perfect metaphors to elude detection and now a bunch of gossiping ninnies have cracked the code? They’ve exposed me and now you know and you probably hate me. Are you happy now?” Jaskier was getting louder. “You got me! Congratulations!” He flung his arms out wide and glared at Geralt. “Why’d you even listen to them, Geralt? What was the point? You’ve ignored it for years.” 

Well. That was an interesting question, wasn’t it. Initially, he _had_ wanted to ignore it. But then he had wanted to protect Jaskier’s reputation, as if that wasn’t a joke. How could a witcher help the reputation of a bard? He had avoided it. He had disliked it. But it wasn’t for Jaskier’s sake, was it. He disliked it. He disliked having these strangers, who by all rights didn’t know a thing about him or Jaskier, speculate on how Jaskier might be feeling. 

He just. Wanted to know. He wanted to know if Jaskier loved him.

“Geralt, your face is looking extra murdery, right now. Are you about to kill me?”

What? He’d never hurt Jaskier. Jaskier was everything. 

_Oh._

“Fuck.” 

“Oh-ho, no you don’t. I am mortified. I’ve been outed by the treasonous people of the Continent and you are about to murder me in a hopefully poetic way. You don’t get to be monosyllabic in my final moments. It doesn’t matter how much I love you, I won’t forgive it.” Jaskier paused. “You know, it’s actually a little freeing saying it after all this time. I love you, Geralt of Rivia, and I’m not sorry that you hate it. Try to be less lovable in the future.” 

Geralt put the book back in his bag and gave Roach a quick pat. She deserved treats later for dealing with all this. That taken care of, he made his way to Jaskier, who froze once more against the tree. 

“Right, if this is the end, please take my journal back to Oxenfurt and ensure that Valdo never gets his hands on it. Actually, just burn it. My genius turning to ash is better than taking the chance that he’d gain from it. I’d have to split my haunting time between you and him as revenge. I will be haunting you, Geralt. I hope you know that it’s out of love. Someone has to make you wash your hair with actual soap.” 

Geralt stopped only when he could get no closer without stepping on Jaskier’s boots. 

“I listened to them because I hoped it was true,” Geralt said, watching as Jaskier’s pupils expanded into black pits. Jaskier’s shaky breaths smelled sweet as they puffed over Geralt’s parted lips.

“I’m sorry? You hoped what was true?” Jaskier’s eyes flitted back and forth on Geralt’s face.

“I wanted the songs to be about me. All of them.” He tilted his head, the tip of his nose barely sliding against Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier licked his lips. “They are. They all are.”

“I’m glad.” Geralt gently let their lips brush before retreating again. Jaskier inhaled and Geralt felt the air in his mouth move from it. “I love you, too.” 

With a whimper, Jaskier surged forward, sealing their lips together. As Geralt bit and licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth, he wondered how Jaskier would turn this into a song and how all of his fans would react, knowing that Jaskier’s pining was over. 

He hoped they would be happy. He certainly was. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my head forever - the idea that the whole world knowing that Jaskier loves Geralt via his super not subtle song writing (sorry Jaskier). I'm glad to have gotten it out. Hope you like it <3 Except, of course, this was meant to be like 1,000 words and that did not happen lololol


End file.
